Long Overdue
by Lazy Fedora
Summary: Roy has something he's been meaning to do. Oneshotdrabble, completed.


Just a 'pass-the-time' ficlet. ) I've never written FMA before, and I know this is terribly cheesy. Sorry. +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ 

Crimson rays extend across the field, over the emerald blades swaying softly in the warm breeze. Somewhere, a bird sings, its sweet song somehow contradicting the gravity that should be associated with the place. The tombstones cast elongated shadows, slender fingers fanned out.

The elongated shadow of his cap conceals his face, a hole above the perfectly neat blue uniform. Right now, he has no identity, only visiting the grave of his fallen comrade in memoriam, in a gesture of utmost respect.

She stands several feet behind him, head held high, eyes constantly on the figure that stands before her. She doesn't stir, never moves, just stands there, watching.

As he stares at the headstone before him, at the name carved into it. He bends down and traces the ridges with the tip of his index finger. The smoothed granite contrasts with the sharp edges where the name is chiseled out. _Maes Hughes_. The contact sends a single phrase through the colonel's head – _you find yourself a wife_. He smiled to himself, halfheartedly, with mixed emotions, thinking of all the times his friend had said those words to him over the phone. They always invoked such frustration in him, such petty emotions that mean nothing now.

_But_, he thinks, _maybe Maes had a point_.

Mustang rises, never diverting his gaze from the stone. He thinks of the only woman he would ever dream of marrying, the one who was always at his side, always supporting him.

"Riza," he calls, never turning or glancing over his shoulder.

She moves to take a step forward, and pauses, shocked. Did he just say 'Riza'? He never called her that. Hawkeye, yes. Shoui, all the time. But not Riza.

He realizes this, as well. They've always been close, but it seemed always to remain on a professional level. Never 'Riza', always 'Shoui', 'Hawkeye'. But they really have been close.

He even kissed her once.

_Late afternoon sun streamed in through the windows, glinting off of the shimmering tiles. The clock on the wall ticked away slowly, softly, its hands making subtle clicking sounds as they rotated around the circle, an eternal wheel. Gold accents caught the sun and reflected its brilliance._

"_Hai, Taisa." She saluted and turned sharply on her heel, towards the door. A hand came to rest on her shoulder, a light squeeze and gentle tug with a slight spin sent her wheeling around to face her superior officer, and she fell against his arms with the suddenness of it._

_But he caught her, by the lips. And it wouldn't have mattered with how much force he turned her back to him – she would have collapsed anyways; it was just a matter of whether the pull itself or the weakness of her knees was the cause. _

_Eyes wide, she stared at him, at his closed eyelids, the crease of his brow as his eyebrows knit together in passion. She didn't think she could stand to look at him like that any longer, so she simply mimicked his facial pattern._

_And it was over, just like that. _

"_I'm sorry," he said, shaking his head, a look of panic and worry creeping across his face. "Please go." She walked around to the far side of his desk, and hesitated. Urgency appeared on his features. He slammed his hands down on the oaken desk before him and leaned forward. "Get out!" he shouted._

_Shocked, eyes the size of saucers, she backed away, slowly at first, then turned and fled from the room, fumbling with the brass door handle on the way out. _

_Watching her go, he collapsed into the wooden chair, elbows resting on the varnished wooden surface, face buried in gloved fingers._

Because he always catches her. Always.

Pressing a gentle fingertip to her lips at the memory of it, she advances forward slowly, coming to stand directly behind him. "Hai, Taisa?"

In one swift motion, he's got her cap off, pulls something out of his pocket, grasps her fingertips and lifts them, limp, towards his mouth. He kisses her knuckles gently, nothing more than a ghost of a touch. Something cold envelops the base of her ring finger and she gasps sharply at the sudden contact. He pulls back and straightens up, obsidian orbs staring intently into chocolate ones, but never lets go of her fingers. The hand remains between them, as a bridge, a bond.

"Riza Hawkeye," he says. "Will you marry me?"

For a minute she only stares at him. It should be an awkward silence, and it is half that – a silence, but not awkward, because there is an understanding between them, an understanding that has always existed, whether or not they're aware of it.

"Yes," she breathes, collapsing into him. He rests his chin atop her golden head, arms holding her close to him, and smiles, because in this moment, all is good in the world.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Concrit, please? 


End file.
